To Love Another Person Is To See The Face Of God
by Hannah-blah
Summary: "Maybe we can not love each other, yeah?" she squeezes around his hand. "Yeah." He breathes out into his bottle. Because they could, they could so easily fall in love. He knows it she knows it. But there's only so much love to go around in the world and they've already seemed to have misplaced theirs.


The first time it happened, it was rushed, hurried and up against the bar within the Musain; the solid edges of the table digging into Eponine's back as Grantaire held her thighs high around his waist. Damp panting breaths along with the slapping of Grantaire's short sharp thrusts were the only things heard within the abandoned room. It was over within a matter of minutes and although sexually satisfied, it never reached the pit within their chests. They passed out minutes later; Eponine behind that same very bar and Grantaire over his customary table, a bottle a wine clutched to his sweat soaked shirt. They didn't make eye contact for the next two days.

oOo

The second time it happened, Eponine had dragged Grantaire, bottle and all, into the adjacent room from which the Les Amis De L'ABC were due to have their bi-weekly meeting at any moment. Shoving him down onto the floor and climbing onto his lap, mumbling into his open mouth about 'pretty blondes' and 'rich families.' She rode him hard, slamming down onto his lap and scratching her nails along his neck. It was all he could do to hold onto her hip with a bruising grip while his other retained it's hold on his wine; held aloft in the air as he tried to thrust up back into 'Ponine. And if he heard a certain name being called into the hollow of his throat as she contracted against him, he tried to ignore it, just like he tried to ignore the swooping sensation in the bottom of stomach as Enjolras gave him his patented glare when he re-joined the group; smelling of sweat and sex.

oOo

The third time, it wasn't rushed or hurried or even within the Musain, but outside; summer had just arrived and the Paris nights were muggy and warm, the cobbled streets still hot from the afternoon sun and the smell of the poor still strong, lingering over the slums. As Grantaire stumbled down the alley, from which, he thought as he stopped to glance around, might be the way to his rooms, a figure towards the end emerged.

"You shouldn't be walking about at this time alone, y'know." Eponine then, he'd know those dulcet tones anywhere.

"Same could go for you, my fair lady." He punctuated the sentence with a long draw from the wine bottle attached to his hand and a bow that made him stumble sideways. Righting himself so he's leaning against the dirty warm wall Grantaire looks back up and starts when he come face to face with Eponine. With all that's been happening lately Grantaire hadn't had the time to just look at 'Ponine. Just look, because really she was beautiful, in a dark, mournful sort of way, the total opposite of what normally catches his attention, but he bats that thought away as it threatens to consume him instead focusing on her; the gentle slope of her nose, her high cheek bones and the roundness of her lips. She's magnificent and he tells her so:

"You're really, really pretty, y'know?" he breathes against her face. A blush creeps over her pale features and he can see that she's fighting off the urge to look down and fidget. That's 'Ponine though, never backing down, even when she should, even when it will hurt her. He like's that about her, that fierceness, it reminds him of something - _No, stop, don't._ He kisses her instead, warm and slow, because he can. When she pulls back, there's something different in her eyes, they seem warmer; if he concentrates hard enough he can see the moonlight's reflection in them.

She takes his hand in hers and drags him from the wall, pulling him down the alley and giggling when he stumbles over his own feet. They end up in her room that she'd been renting just two streets away from the Musain and they fall through the door kissing and caressing. By the time they've made it to the cot in the corner he has one hand under her skirt while the other is preoccupied with tying her hair around his fist, pulling her head to the side so he can devour her neck. She pulls him down onto the cot after her; half lying on her he can't help but thrust against her hip, his hand hasn't stopped it's exploring from between her legs and she keeps making these small mewling sounds that shoot straight to his cock.

Suddenly overcome Grantaire pushes up on is left arm while his right rucks up Eponine skirts around her waist, desperate for some release he pushes down his trousers over his erection, take's himself in hand and blindly aims for her soft, wet opening. As soon as he's in her, the urgency abates, pressed up together hips to face, he pauses, his hand encompassing her jaw as he turns her head to kiss her, sharing their breath as he starts a slow, deep rhythm. He can't help searching out her eyes in the darkness, their bodies jolting with every thrust, the only thing Grantaire can hear is his own stuttered breathing and the steady banging sound the cot makes as it impacts upon the wall, strangely echoing his own heartbeat pulsing within his ears. Eventually he feels her lips move against his own forming the word "Faster." feeling it instead of hearing it. He picks up the pace his thrusts coming harder as her tight heat pulses around him. Breaking the eye contact he buries his face in her neck as she convulses underneath him, causing him to strain into her one last time as his orgasm washes over him, up through his toes and down his spine. As he comes-to he notices that he's mouthing a name against her damp shoulder, flinching as he pulls out, he becomes aware of the sticky state of their clothing, the night had already been hot but with them so close together they've created a veritable sauna.

"I don't love you." She says staring up into the crumbling ceiling.

"I know." He flops uselessly next to her onto the bed.

"And I know you don't love me." Her hand searches for his.

"I know." His right hand finds hers as his left leave the bed to try and locate his discarded wine bottle.

"Maybe we can not love each other, yeah?" she squeezes around his hand.

"Yeah." He breathes out into his bottle. Because they could, they could so easily fall in love. He knows it she knows it. But there's only so much love to go around in the world and they've already seemed to have misplaced theirs.

oOo

For the next month things become routine, after the Les Amis De L'ABC meetings they'd usually take out their mutual sexual frustration on each other, in a dizzying array of positions; up against the wall, over the Les Amis table, ON the Les Amis table, and if they happened to mouth different names and picture different faces while performing these debauched scenes then neither of them mentioned it. Even if sometimes those names are their own and they only picture each other's faces. It's never brought up and it's never needed; for once they're both in agreement, they understand each other on a level that neither of them have comprehended before and probably never will again. And sometimes when Grantaire can't take it anymore, can't take the sight of blonde curls, impassioned blue irises and red jackets, then instead of drowning himself in vats of wine he finds Eponine and drowns himself in the smell of her hair and grounds himself in the feel of her hot pulsing cunt. And he's not so foolish as to believe that she doesn't do the same.

oOo

The barricade is up and things are a mess. Grantaire eyes a bottle of wine thoughtfully from the other side of the Musain, if he could just make it there without getting shot it would be worth it. But no, the soldiers are too much on alert and he needs to stay focused, focused on Apollo above, shouting orders for more ammunition, even as people are falling like flies around him. And right in this moment he really does look like Apollo, an Adonis come to life, he's jarred out of his thoughts as he sees a streak of dark brown hair, he'd know that hair anywhere, even if it is hidden underneath a large baker hat.

He lunges at the figure "'Ponine! 'Ponine it's me!" He whispers into her ear harshly as he drags her in an abandoned doorway. She fought for the first few seconds but as she whirls around and gets her equilibrium back she can't help glaring at him.

"What are you doing?" She spits at him.

"Me?! Me! What are you doing!? And… and dressed like that!" He points an accusatory finger in her face and she fights the urge to bite it.

"What do you think?" There's a pause where she searches his face and then turns to eye at a figure at the very top of the barricade, he follows her eye line and makes out the form of Marius crouching low next to Enjolras and whispering something that seems urgent.

"You… You have to let me. You know that right? You have to." Her voice has suddenly gone soft as she brings a hand up to cup Grantaire's cheek, her eyes warm and a small smile playing about her face. He gives her a small nod and swallows dryly, because he knows, he really does, he understands what she needs to do, what she's feeling, because he's going through that as well, as he takes another peek up onto the barricade. He understands it all too clearly. It doesn't mean, however, that he has to like it.

He leans his forehead upon hers and breathes an "I love you" into her face. She answers in kind and reaches up for a kiss, soft and warm, so like her, something that he will remember, and something that he can keep. And he knows this is goodbye. He presses a harder kiss onto her lips, willing them to imprint and stay upon her as she slips out of his grasp and into the battle.

oOo

Half an hour later when he hears a distinct gun shot and a shout that is a few octaves higher than what it should be, he pauses in his muzzle-loading, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and doesn't let the tears escape. He picks up the near-empty wine bottle next to him and takes a long gulp; opens his eyes and continues. _Because he understands. _

And even later, when he's walking up the stairs to what he knows is his death and what he thinks of as his salvation, he thinks of the warm bed he shared, the warm breaths he felt and the warm brown eyes he stared into, and as he hears himself ask; "Do you permit it?" While staring into the light haired, bright eyes Apollo, he thinks that maybe there is enough love in the world. Just maybe. And as he feels the breath leave his lungs in one great heave and his knees knock onto the old wooden flooring, he smiles, because this isn't the end, no, this might just be the beginning.


End file.
